


Moon Legend

by mattzerella_sticks



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Sailor Moon Fusion, Battling, Castiel is Tuxedo Mask, Costumes, Dean is Sailor Moon, Dreams, Flustered Dean, M/M, Monsters, Roses, Talking Animals, fighting evil by moonlight, snarky Cas, winning love by daylight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-01 17:03:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15147788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattzerella_sticks/pseuds/mattzerella_sticks
Summary: Dean Winchester was your average high school student. But after a strange encounter with a bald-spotted cat, his life is forever changed.He thought studying was hard enough, but how can he even handle that now that he's protecting the city by moonlight?





	Moon Legend

**Author's Note:**

> So I love Supernatural and I love Sailor Moon. So why not combine the two together.  
> I finally figured out a good way to do that, and so I wrote this little one-shot that re-tells the first chapter (and bits) of Sailor Moon using characters we all know and love from Supernatural.
> 
> There will also be a few little twists to make the Sailor Moon world fit in with Supernatural (i.e. set in America, similar storyline, not exact, and certain peculiarities)

            Dean Winchester was your average high school student. He lived in Lawrence, Kansas with loving parents and a slightly obnoxious younger brother. Like most kids his age, he attended Carver Edlund High. He wasn’t all that popular. Dean wasn’t at the bottom of the food chain nor was he the apex predator. Like most of his life – he floated somewhere in the middle. This wasn’t a problem when it came to _surviving_ high school. But it is when it comes to _graduating_ high school.

            He’ll agree that his grades could be better: that Dean could put more time and focus into studying and doing his homework. But consensus does not equal action. Dean doesn’t need high grades – that’s more Sam’s thing. He’s not planning on seeking out scholarships and moving across the country to learn even _more_ things he doesn’t need. Some people might say that he’s unmotivated, shortsighted, and all around _not smart_. Dean used to disagree, telling them that his grades are no more a reflection of his intelligence than how many books he’s read or how many presidents he can name. There’re all kinds of smart – Dean just doesn’t happen to be the kind that did well on tests. But he knew he was some kind of smart.

            However, after the day he’s had, he’s beginning to think he doesn’t have any smarts at all. 

* * *

 

            _It’s very white. Dean stares: entranced by the marble column, trailing fingers down its smooth, pristine surface. Deep lines and patterns have been cut into the stone, following the same path that has been etched into the other beams surrounding him. Being surrounded by all this white should feel clinical and cold, but there’s familiar warmth burning in his chest._

_“…Michael…”_

_Dean stills, the voice ringing down the hall. He turns his head slightly to see a shadow making its way down. By the sounds of his footsteps, he seems to be running. But no matter how fast or hard he try, he still remains a blip of a thing at the end of the corridor._

_“…Michael!”_

_‘ **Michael?** ’ Dean thinks, ‘ **What’s he mean? Who’s he talking to?** ’_

_“Behind…” he’s inching closer, “You!”_

_Dean turns, another shadowy figure staggering closer, with a sword raised above their head. He tries to scream, but he cannot speak. The blade swings down. He forces his eyes shut, the only action his body will allow him to take. Dean prays his family is safe, wherever they are, and that they think of him fondly._

_CLAANG!_

            “Dean, seriously, wake up!”

            He shoots out of bed, hand clutched to his sleep shirt, He tugs it down, arms sagging the more he adjusts to his surroundings.

            ‘ _Bed… no hall. Messy floors no… no clean tile_ ,” he sneaks a peek at his shaggy-haird brother, ‘ _Sammy… no shadows._ ’ He counts down from ten until his breathing levels out. The younger kid watches Dean, pronounced frown loosening slightly.

            “You okay?” Sam asks after a good while, “Bad dream?”

            “ _Weird_ dream…” Dean tells him, “But… nothing I’m not used to.”

            “Speaking of things you’re used to,” Sam chuckles, slowly backing out of the room, “…you’re gonna be late.”

            “Huh?” He glances over at the alarm clock, the hands ticking ominously past the notches. Dean jumps, grabbing it in a panic to check once more. Seeing that his eyes were _not_ deceiving him, he tumbles out of bed and darts around the room at frantic speed. Sam watches it with undisguised glee.

            “Yeah, yeah laugh it up chuckles,” Dean grumbles, struggling into his jeans, “You being here means you’re gonna be late.”

            “Not really,” Sam starts, walking away, “I just had to wake you up. I’m not waiting for your lazy ass.”

            “Hey!”

            Dean hops forward, trying to follow, only to trip over his backpack and careen towards the floor. He flips in time and lands on his back, another groan erupting from within.

            “Dean!” his mother, Mary, calls from downstairs, “Stop joking around or you’ll miss the bus!” She leaves off the part where she says she won’t drive him in if he does. He’s missed the bus so many times she’s already pulled that privilege away as punishment. Told him he’d be more conscious without a safety net waiting to catch him.

            Too bad he’s never been one to look before he leaps.

            Dean finishes getting ready for the day and downs the steps two at a time. He swings by the kitchen, grabbing for the plate of toast on the table. John, his father, looks up from his tablet and smirks at him, while Mary leans against the counter with a stern frown. Sheepishly, Dean tries to avoid glancing in her direction. She doesn’t give him much of a choice.

            “So,” she starts, “Glad to see you join us.”

            “Ma –“

            “We didn’t think you’d make it down in time –“

            “Come on!”

            “Calm down, Dean,” John says, “She does this every day, and you still fall for it.”

            “I know, but…” he doesn’t finish his defense, just shoving more crispy, buttery bread into his mouth. Mary steps forward and pulls him into a crushing hug.

            “We just want what’s best for you sweetie,” she tells him, “And this is a bad habit you really should break – especially since you’ll be graduating soon.”

            “Ma,” Dean blushes, “I still got another year…” He backpedals away from this conversation like always, squeezing himself out of her embrace and towards the door. It’s not her fault that college is such a touchy subject. She just has bigger aspirations for him than he does. Mary wants Dean to get the most of his education and attend college and get a degree.

            Dean, well… he has _other_ plans.

            “Anyway,” he takes another bite of his toast, “I should be going. The bus –“

            “Is outside.”

            Dean whips around to where John glances out the bay window, watching as Sam climbs aboard the bus. It finally hits Dean that he should be leaving, so he kisses both parents on the cheek and darts out the door – a slice of toast between his teeth.

            “Hey! Wait – I’m right…” the bus pulls away before he can reach it, “…here.” Dean sighs, pulling at the straps on his bag, before starting the trek to school.

            It’s not the first time he’s had to make this commute. It sucks, since Carver Edlund is on the other side of Lawrence, but after many attempts, has found the fastest route there. So he has to jump over a few fences and take some back-routes, but unlike freshman year Dean, he isn’t scared.

            But like his younger self – he is very much a liar, especially to himself. Because terror is the first thing he feels when he hears sounds coming from a nearby garbage can. Yelping, he turns towards the metal cans as they wobble back and forth.

            He’s not sure what to expect. His mind conjures images of vampires, ghosts, and werewolves. But common sense reminds him that none of those creatures are real. And that the most likely cause is some lost dog or cat.

            It turns out to be the latter. The poor thing wobbles out from behind the trash cans, pawing at the bandages stuck to its forehead. Even though he’s allergic, his heart goes out to the little guy.

            “Poor cat,” Dean says, “Who did this to you?” The cat looks up, blinking at him. He steps forward, towards Dean, until he’s rubbing up against his leg. Dean braces for his allergies to kick in. But the sneezes never come.

            “Weird,” Dean leans down, scratching his chin, “Must be hypo-allergenic or some shit…” He searches for a collar, but doesn’t find one. “Okay Mr. Stray, don’t be mad at me, but seeing as how you don’t seem to belong to anyone… I’m just gonna – “ Dean rips the band-aids off like… well, their namesake. The cat hisses in pain, but doesn’t strike back at Dean. Instead, he licks at the hand still under his chin.

            “Such a nice cat,” Dean murmurs, staring at the cat’s forehead, “And such a… strange bald spot.” Dean traces the crescent shape with his finger, mesmerized by the mark. It tickles the back of his mind, like pulling a loose string on a sweater. He feels like he’s underwater, trapped just below the surface, but slowly coming up for air.

            The moment ends when Dean’s phone blares ‘I’m Too Sexy’, and in his fumbling attempt to answer the cat rushes away, leaving a strange emptiness in Dean’s chest. He answers in a daze.

            “Yeah?” he waits a beat, face shifting in panic. He stands, running the other way, saying, “I’m almost there… got distracted Lis… yeah, yeah I’ll tell you about it when I get there.”

            He doesn’t notice how the cat’s eyes follow him all the way until he turns the corner, a smart, calculating expression on his face. 

* * *

 

            “I can’t believe a score like this even exists!”

            Dean crushes the edges of the exam in his grip, pouring over the scribbles and red marks, imprinting each mistake to the front of his mind. Beside him, his friend Lisa offers him a soft look in her turtle neck and orange skirt.

            “Look at it this way,” she suggests, “Mr. Turner did say it was the first time he’s ever seen anyone score this low on an English exam.”

            Dean skids to a halt and hangs his head in shame. He’d fire back with his own sarcastic remark, but knows that nothing could sink the positive outlook Lisa had of the situation. It’s why they hung out together: her bubbly optimism about the future balanced out his cynical realism. That, and the fact they’ve been in the same class for most their life.

            “Whatever,” Dean sighs, crumbling the test into a tiny ball, “Out of sight… out of mind.” He tosses the paper behind him, carrying on now that his cares have been safely tossed over his shoulder.

            What he doesn’t expect is for someone to voice his cares for all the public to hear.

            “Wow, a 39? Who gets this bad a grade in _English_?”

            Freezing once more, Dean feels the pricks of shame starting to needle their way down his spine. He turns on his heel, ready to give a piece of his mind to the lowlife who would read somebody’s _garbage_ when he’s caught unawares by the simple unfair truth of the other man.

            ‘ _Oh no,_ ’ Dean thinks, ‘ _he’s handsome!_ ’

            The stranger who ousted Dean’s educational struggles was dressed fairly odd for someone his age. He couldn’t be more than a few years older than Dean, but he was swathed in a baggy trench coat and a rumpled suit like a tired, old ad salesman. The only thing that clued others into his true age was the cut-from-marble like features on his tanned face.

            The other man looks up from Dean’s paper and smirks. “I assume this belongs to you?” He holds it out so Dean can read it, can see the angry red numbers glaring at him. He snatches it from the other man’s hold and clutches it tight to his chest.

            “And what if it does?” he starts, “Doesn’t give you the right to look through it.”

            “It was thrown away,” trench coat points out, “Usually that means it’s trash… and no one cares about what happens to their trash.”

            ‘ _Okay well now this is easier_ ,’ Dean thinks, squinting, ‘ _Jerkiness definitely kills the hotness of the guy_.’ “Still,” he says, “Only creeps go through other people’s trash.”

            “Next time don’t throw it in my face then,” he shrugs, “Airhead.”

            “Airhead?”

            “Yeah, because there’s nothing but air in there,” he taps at Dean’s head, “Therefore… _airhead_.” He walks away coolly, hands in the pockets of his coat, leaving Dean flustered and full of emotions.

            “That’s not,” Dean finally manages, red in the face, “That’s not my name!”

            “Of course,” the guy calls back, smirking, “How would I know? You didn’t even fill _that_ in.”

            Dean doesn’t give him the satisfaction of watching him check his paper to see if he forgot his name. He waits until the other guy has rounded the corner before subtly checking. When he sees the empty line on top, his head drops in embarrassment.

            “Asshole,” Dean mutters, shoving the test into his back pack, “Where does he get off with his holier-than-thou gimmick?”

            “At least he gave you the test back,” Lisa consoles, finally stepping back into the conversation, “Mr. Turner said you needed to have it signed by your mom and handed back to him tomorrow.”

            “Great,” Dean grouses, following Lisa further down the road, “Not only will I not graduate, I won’t even live to see the sun! Today can’t get any worse.”

            “But maybe it can get better?” Lisa suggests. At Dean’s incredulous expression, she continues, “I mean, well – my mom is going crazy with this latest sale. She’s marked things _way_ down.”

            “Really?” Dean asks, “Isn’t that bad for someone selling jewels? Those things ain’t s’posed to be cheap.”

            “Don’t even get me started,” Lisa scoffs, “I tried asking her why she was doing this and she just sent me off with orders to tell all my friends.” Then she blushes, looking away to wring her hands together, “I don’t know… maybe you could buy something for yourself or… I don’t know, someone else?”

            Dean frowns, sighing. Lisa and him have been playing the same cat-and-mouse game for the longest time. Except where Lisa thinks Dean is everything, Dean thinks Lisa is missing a few important parts.

            “Not today,” Dean says, taking a large step in the other direction, “I really need to get back home even if it’s a death sentence. Ma wanted me to help with some chores. Rain check?”

            “Rain check,” Lisa repeats, smile a bit dimmer at the rejection, “I’m sure the sale will be there the next day.”

            “Great,” Dean says, walking away, “See you soon!”

            “Bye Dean!”

* * *

             “-and don’t even _think_ about using your laptop while you’re up there! You are _barred_ from that thing until your grades are back _up_ mister!”

            Dean closes the door to his room, wincing as Mary’s voice even carries through the solid oak. He drags a hand down his face as he dumps his bag onto the floor. Kicking of his shoes, he shuffles over to his bed and flops belly first onto it.

            ‘ _Might as well get comfortable_ ,’ Dean thinks, ‘ _Seeing as I’ll be here for the foreseeable future_.’ His freedom and mobility wouldn’t have been so limited had it not been for Sam, who in all his little brother glory, tattled on Dean’s poor grade by pointing out the crumpled test stuffed haphazardly into his bag. He couldn’t make up an excuse in time, however, and before he could get a taste of some pie, Mary laid into him. Telling him off for his bad habits and how he’s ruining any chance of getting into somewhere good once he graduates.

            ‘ _I don’t need grades where I’m going, Ma_ ,’ Dean thinks, ‘ _Just a pretty face and great cooking skills_.’ Because no one wants to marry someone who doesn’t look their best nor couldn’t cook. And since Dean’s ultimate dream is to be married and living the perfect life: sleeping in, watching TV, and cooking excellent meals so when his husband gets back from work, they’ll be able to share something nice before retiring for the day.

            And in Dean’s fantasy, college played no part in future success.

            ‘ _What does_ ,’ he sighs, ‘ _Is finding a handsome, well-off man in **Kansas** who’s **also** into men._ ’ Dean snorts, ‘ _Well, I guess that’s why they call them dreams_.’ He sighs, ready to relax into a deep sleep when he hears a tapping at his window.

            Cracking open one eye, Dean stares at the glass. He doesn’t notice anything at first, but before he can turn away the tapping continues. Dean pulls himself up, shuffling towards the window and throwing it open.

            “Alright who’s the wise guy that’s,” his tirade pauses at the sight of a familiar crescent-marked cat. “Oh,” Dean says, “it’s you. What are you doing –“ the cat, perched on Dean’s roof, leaps past him and into his room, “here?” Dean follows as the cat makes his way around Dean’s room, “Alright little guy, you can’t be here. Sorry if I imprinted on ya or anything but –“

            “Will you shut up,” the cat hisses at him, “Seriously, you prattle on and on – can’t let a cat think in peace.”

            “Did… did you,” Dean stutters, “…What?”

            “God you suck at following directions,” the cat stops at his feet, “But… you’ll have to do.”

            “You can talk,” Dean says.

            The cat gives him an unimpressed look, “So can you.”

            “But I’m _supposed_ to talk.”

            “And I’m not?”

            “Generally!” Dean yells, the situation finally catching up to him, “Oh God, _do_ all cats talk? Was I _not_ supposed to remove those band-aids… did I accidentally awaken some ancient evil and you’re here to kill me now that I know your secret? Oh man…”

            “Seriously, shut it ya idjit,” the cat growls, “If you just take a breath, I can take you through a crash course on _why_ I’m here so… why don’t you sit?”

            Dean, accepting the insanity of it all, follows the cat’s orders. He looks impressed at Dean’s ability to follow simple commands, and begins to pace back and forth in front of him.

            “Okay, so about those band-aids, you didn’t make a mistake. You did the right thing. Some stupid kids stuck those things on my forehead and severely impacted my senses. With those things on I wasn’t any better than the cats of Earth –“

            “Of Earth?” Dean asks, “So you’re… you’re an alien?”

            “Not so much, no,” the cat tells him, “My name is Bobby, once-royal advisor to the Royal Kingdom of the Moon.” He bows, “Thank you again for freeing me from those damned bandages.”

            Dean blinks once, then twice, before bursting into hysterics.

            “Okay,” Bobby mewls, “Now what’s gotten into ya?”

            “I must be dreaming,” Dean huffs, “That’s it. Because _this_ – this right here – this makes no sense. It sounds like something out of a comic book or some shit like that!”

            Bobby tilts his head, “Comic book?”

            Dean rolls his eyes before grabbing an issue of Batman from nearby and leaning over to show the ‘once-royal advisor’. Bobby seems intrigued by the pages, but doesn’t protest when Dean pulls it away from him.

            “Well that sure was nonsense,” the cat says, “Clowns… gangsters… the things you fight won’t be as comical or easy.”

            “Hold up,” Dean says, “Who says anything about fighting?”

            “It’s the reason I’m here,” Bobby continues, “I was reborn to find the Moon Heir – as were _you_.”

            “Me?” Dean yelps, “What are you talking about?”

            “Dean, _you_ are the Soldier fighting for love and justice – to fight in the name of the Moon Kingdom,” Bobby says, “Sailor Moon!”

            To give Dean credit, he leaves a gracious beat between Bobby’s words and the boisterous laughter that erupts from deep within. He can just make out the cat’s unimpressed look through the chuckle-tears.

            “Alright, alright,” Dean wheezes, “I think that’s enough for one night. I really should be waking up now before my Ma finds me dozing instead of studying.”

            “How many times do I have to tell ya boy, you ain’t dreaming!” Bobby hisses, scratching at Dean, “Does this convince you?”

            Dean flinches, drawing his hand back. After sucking on the mark, he stares at the marred flesh, small rivulets of blood drawing forth.

            “Holy shit,” Dean whispers, “I’m not dreaming.”

            “No you are not,” Bobby reaffirms, “You _are_ the one and only Sailor Moon… unfortunately.”

            “Hey!” Dean says, “You don’t have to be so rude about it.” Another beat. “So… since I’m a soldier and all… do I get a cool costume?”

            Bobby sighs, but isn’t unprepared for the question. Instead, he crouches down before leaping into a summersault. In the action, a crest of glitter and light works emerges from the center of his turn. In Bobby’s descent, a small pendant falls to the floor.

            “Pick that up,” Bobby tells him, “And when you hold it up, shout ‘Moon Prism Power! Make Up!”

            “Make Up?”

            “Consider it my own _personal_ punishment for questioning my origins.”

            Dean considers his entire life as he picks up the pendant. Thinks about all the choices in his life that led him to listening to a talking cat and not calling animal control to save him from what could be an escaped science experiment. But throughout the tales Bobby would weave, Dean couldn’t deny the small voice in his chest that _believed_ the damned cat. That trusted him to lead him onto whatever adventure he was signing up for.

            “Moon Prism Power,” Dean shouts, eyes closed, “Make… Up!”

            Even behind his closed eyes, light pours in. He feels strange warmth flowing from deep within, pouring over him in waves as a transformation happens. Ribbons tighten themselves around his arms and legs, turning into gloves and boots. Something cold and shiny tugs at his forehead, and he can sense the power burning deep inside.

            In the next instant, the light is gone, and he’s in a strange costume. Red boots and cerulean blue tights leave nothing to the imagination on his lower body. And the skin-iike white tank and gloves are a few inches away from being too snug. There’re two big bows, one above his ass and one over his chest, with the pendant nestled between, and a small cape resting over his shoulders. On his head rests some sort of circlet with a red jewel in the middle. He’s even wearing strange clips in his hair.

            “Wow.” Dean whispers, entranced by his appearance, “This is… this is _so cool_.”

            “I’m glad all it took for you to believe me was a little light show.”

            “Yeah I totally – _nggh_ ,” Dean crumples in on himself, a shriek cutting across his mind. Bobby leaps forward.

            “What is it?” he asks, “What’s happening?”

            “I’m hearing… hearing someone screaming… they’re in trouble,” Dean manages, “It’s someone… someone familiar – I’d recognize…” his eyes widen, “Lisa! That’s Lisa in trouble!”

            “Damn,” Bobby mutters, “They’re already here… I thought I’d have time to train you.”

            “Who’s here?” Dean asks, “Who’s hurting Lisa?”

            “I’ll explain on the way,” Bobby jumps towards the window, “Now we have to go and save your friend.”

            Dean still has a chance to turn away. To forget he ever saw anything and close the door on this strange part of his life.

            But his answer was made the second he heard the scream.

            Because Dean might make dumb choices, but they always had good intentions behind them. 

* * *

 

            But even the nicest of intentions can go awry. The best example being Dean, trapped between a wall and a twisted version of his friend’s mother. Mrs. Braeden had short brunette hair that was always pulled too tight behind her and had smooth skin she’d tell everyone she ran into to feel. Now, her visage is twisted and gnarled, hair wild like snakes behind her. Her customary deep purple dress is in tatters, and green eyes are dull moss at the center of pitch black circles.

            Lisa lies crumpled into a pile at the other end of her mother’s shop = unharmed. Whatever her not-mother was about to do, Dean arrived before she could go through with it.

            However, having this creature’s attention was not working out for Dean.

            “You have such delightful energy surrounding you,” Not-Mrs. Braeden says, sniffing the air around Dean, “I can’t _wait_ to suck you dry and present it to my master.”

            “You wouldn’t be the first lady who tried,” Dean bluffs, swallowing nervously. His eyes move from Lisa to Bobby, also in a heap on the floor. The cat had already tried once to put space between Dean and the monster. However his claws weren’t sharp enough to overcome Not-Mrs. Braeden’s might. Leaving Dean to face her alone, with no idea how to stop her.

            “So fresh,” she hisses, “So _tasty_.”

            ‘ _This is it, Dean,_ ’ he thinks, ‘ _You’re gonna die, and the cops are gonna find you in this dumb costume – and **that’s** how you’ll be remembered._ ’ He sniffs, trying to fight away the tears. But once they start, Dean can’t keep the dam from breaking. His whines start low in his throat, only to increase in pitch and intensity.

            “No, no, no, no!” he cries, struggling against Not-Mrs. Braeden as she presses against him. He feels the little ornaments in his hair burn the more he cries, and soon enough a tinny-echo starts up. Not-Mrs. Braeden swings back, covering her ears.

            “Stupid crybaby,” she screams, “Would you shut up!” Not-Mrs. Braeden glares at Dean before swinging one claw at him. He’s sure he’s done for, and makes one last attempt at peace with God.

            Only death never comes.

            Instead, the divide between him and the monster grows, a single blue rose keeping her at bay from him.

            “There’s no need to cry, Sailor Moon,” a voice from above calls down, “You have the power inside you to stop this beast.”

            Dean follows the sound, eyes focusing on a dark blur on the second floor balcony. He’s dressed in a tight-fitted tuxedo, with a flowing cape behind him – the interior of it as icy blue as the rose. The guy is a mystery if the top hat and white domino mask are anything to go by. But the rough growl of his voice sends shivers of familiarity throughout Dean.

            ‘ _Who_ _is he_?’

            “More intruders!” Not-Mrs. Braeden shrieks, “I’ll teach you _all_ to not interfere with our plans.” One claw extends to grab for the newest member of their fight, while the second strikes at Dean. This time, he rolls out of the way in time, and continues dodging as more swings come.

            “Sailor Moon!” Bobby calls from his place, “Your circlet! Use your circlet!”

            “How?”

            “Hold it and yell ‘Moon Circlet Action’ before tossing it!”

            “A Frisbee?” Dean shouts, pulling the gold band off his head, “That’s how we’re going to win?”

            “Just trust me!”

            Dean avoids another attack before doing what Bobby says. He focuses all his energy into the circlet, stance nice and even before he starts. “Moon Circlet Action!” Dean shouts, pulling back the band as it glows silver and tossing it right for Not-Mrs. Braeden.

            She tries to catch it, only for her hand to be sliced in two as it continues on its path towards her. “No!” she screams, “No! How can this be! You won’t get away with thi-iiee!!” She bursts into dust, the last bits of her falling as Dean catches the circlet and putting it back on his head.

            Bobby paws forward, looking at him with pride. “Great job De – ah, Sailor Moon. You did it!”

            “That you did, Sailor Moon,” the stranger calls from above, drawing both their attention towards him, “As it should be, beauty and justice triumphs over wicked evil.”

            “Thanks, uh,” Dean falters, “who are you?”

            “You can call me… ‘Tuxedo Mask’,” he says, turning away, “The next time our paths cross.”

            “Wait!” Dean calls for him. It’s too late, with Tuxedo Mask jumping out the window before Dean can take a step. Something within Dean tells him he should follow, a voice that sounds as familiar to the one in his dreams: the one shouting ‘Michael’. Before he can look too closely, he feels a tug at his ankles.

            “Come on, ya idjit,” Bobby says, “We gotta git. The cops will be here any second!”

            “What about Lisa and her,” Dean looks to the ashes, “her mom?”

            “That wasn’t her mom,” Bobby assures him, “Trust me. Now, we gotta go!”

            Dean glances back at Lisa, watches as she starts to regain consciousness. He sighs, “Alright. But I want _answers_.”         

            “You’ll get ‘em, boy,” Bobby says, following Dean out the back, “That I’m certain of.” 

* * *

 

            In a dark, underground cave, a pale, red-headed woman sits on a throne of stone. She gazes into a foggy crystal ball, glaring at the image on screen.

            “Well…” she starts, “Looks like the Moon Kingdom finally emerges after all these years. Expected… but not accepted. Uriel!” A tall, dark-skinned man steps forward. He glowers fiercely, and his eyes show all the power resting within his vessel. He’s dressed in a gray uniform that pulls tight against his thick frame.

            “Yes, Queen Abbadon?” he asks.

            “You are tasked to deal with this… Sailor Moon,” she says, “Along with human’s energy, I want his demise. Do I make myself clear?”

            “As always, my queen.”

            “Good,” she spits, “Now get out of my sight.” Uriel disappears, leaving Abbadon alone in her throne room.

            ‘ _Sailor Moon_ ,’ she thinks, staring at a frozen picture of Dean mid-combat, ‘ _Like the Silver Millenium before you… you’ll fall to my hand. And Earth and Emmanuel will be mine once more!’_ Her wicked laugh echoes in the empty chamber. 

* * *

 

            “So I’m supposed to fight these creeps from the ‘Dark Kingdom’?” Dean starts, laying in bed with Bobby in his lap, scratching at the cat’s ears, “Because they’re the enemies to the Moon Kingdom from years ago during this thing called the Silver Millennium?”

            “Exactly,” Bobby purrs.

            “Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.”

            Bobby stops. He looks at Dean, “And why not?”

            “You saw me tonight!” Dean explains, “I could barely handle _one_. How am I supposed to take down a freakin’ ‘Kingdom’ all by myself! Especially one that – as you said – already destroyed our Moon Paradise-whatever.”

            “I didn’t say you’d be alone,” Bobby says.

            “Oh right,” Dean sighs dreamily, “Me and Tuxedo Mask…”

            “And I didn’t mean him, either,” Bobby cuts in, “So get that starry look out of your eyes.”

            “What?” Dean blinks, frowning, “Why not him? He saved me!”

            “He obviously wasn’t there to stop the Dark Kingdom,” Bobby explains, “I know all our allies for the upcoming war, and the name Tuxedo Mask doesn’t ring a damned bell.”

            Dean pouts. “Well,” he sighs, “that’s a shame.” He wants to defend Tuxedo Mask, argue with Bobby that even if he wasn’t there to fight, he still stayed to save Dean. And maybe there was a motive behind that, but something about the guy sent Dean all aflutter. “Anyway,” Dean says, “you said allies. So who should we be looking out for.”

            “I’m… not sure –“

            “But you just said –“

            “Look, I just said I knew their names, that they were reborn alongside all of us, but,” Bobby says, “they’ll have to reveal themselves to us in time. Just like how I had to awaken your powers, they’ll need the same treatment.”

            “And here I thought I was special.”

            “Ain’t nothing special about you, boy,” Bobby chuckles, “Except maybe the way you can hit the _right_ spot behind my ear. Now get with it, it’s been a long day.” Dean sighs once more, but acquiesces, trailing his fingers behind Bobby’s ear.

            His mind wanders, though, on just who will be fighting at his side now that he’s signed up for whatever war will be coming in the future. And maybe see just how Tuxedo Mask can wedge himself into it. 

* * *

 

            In an empty computer lab, Charlie Bradbury works non-stop on correcting a bug on her computing program. Her red hair is pulled into a tight ponytail behind her. She pushes her glasses higher onto her nose to get a better look at the series of codes flashing on screen.

            Just as she’s about to crack the bug in her system, a flash of pain hits her temple. She draws back, kneading her eyes in what she thinks will soothe her ache. If she didn’t have her eyes closed, she would have noticed the blue symbol flash on her forehead in the computer’s reflection. But she misses it, and once deemed fine, resumes working. 

* * *

 

            Jo craves adventure. But living under the shadow of a worried mother, the closest she comes to it is closing up the bar on late nights. The Roadhouse is very popular amongst college students and drunks for the seedy atmosphere and ‘no questions asked’ policy. They make enough to live comfortably above water, but not enough that Jo can take time for herself to go and follow her heart.

            It’s on one such night, when she’s taking out the trash, that she feels a sharp pain in her head. She stumbles into the giant dumpster can, startling her two pet crows away. Jo stifles back a curse as she re-centers herself.

            “Joanna Beth!” Ellen calls from inside, “You okay?”

            “Yeah mom,” Jo sighs, “Just tripped is all.” She dumps the bag and heads back inside: ignorant to the burning red mark that glowed for half-a-second on her forehead. 

* * *

 

            Benny can’t feel anything over the ache inside his chest. He sits alone under a willow tree on his family’s property, crying into his knees at the thought of his beloved Andrea with another. Even her name sends thunderous pains throughout his heart and head.

            He doesn’t know how he can go on without her. They were supposed to be together forever. And yet, in his darkest moments – his transference from their school in Louisiana to some Podunk town in Middle America – she abandons him. Now he’ll be truly alone. With no family, and now no love.

            If he weren’t so heartbroken, he would have noticed that Andrea could not be blamed for all the pain; because for a split second, a green mark flashed across his forehead like lightning before disappearing back into nothingness.

* * *

             “Looks like it’s finally happening,” Gabriel says, standing on a pier in London, England, lollipop in his mouth.

            “Indeed it does,” Crowley, his pure white cat with the crescent-mark on his forehead, says, “The stars aligning and all that.”

            “Oh Crowley, please don’t try and go posh on me,” Gabriel smirks, “We’re still not leaving England for awhile. I can’t get sick of it _now_.”

            “You’ll miss it though, once we get to America,” Crowley huffs, “They don’t make class like they do _here_.”

            “Yeah?” Gabriel chuckles, “You wanna know where you can _shove_ your class?”

            The duo walks away from the water’s edge, disappearing into the fog surrounding them.

* * *

             ‘ _Sailor Moon_ ,’ Tuxedo Mask thinks, standing atop a city building in the inky night, ‘ _I’ll be keeping my eye on you. There’s something about you…_ ’ he stops, shaking his head, ‘ _No mater. You might be distracting, but you won’t get between me and my mission. The Silver Crystal will be mine._ ’

            He disappears, a kernel of doubt lodged into his mission for the first time.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoyed the story and my character choices!
> 
> Let me know what you think: kudos/comments.
> 
> And maybe there might be a part two!


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